


In Love and War

by Maralee



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, F/M, How Do I Tag, M/M, Novelization, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 08:51:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13186623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maralee/pseuds/Maralee
Summary: She had moved to Tamriel for a fresh start, to forget her past. But when the High King is killed in a duel, Alessandra Sadian must take a stand and come out of hiding. From dragons to love and war, it's an adventure for the era.





	1. Prologue: A Deadly Duel

Prologue: A Deadly Duel

The air was crisp and cold in the early morning breeze, but the rising sun was warm and welcoming as it dawned on Skyrim. Alessandra Sadian breathed in the fresh air as she entered Solitude’s gates, and looked up at the bright blue sky, painted with rosy blue hues.

“You shouldn’t be nervous,” a girl said beside her; Amirah, a Redguard woman of twenty-two years, three years her senior, and Alessandra’s best friend. She walked with her chin high, onyx eyes glittering in the dawn's light.

Alessandra couldn’t help but laugh humorlessly. “Anyone in their right mind would be nervous; it’s the Jarl, Elisif the Fair,” she said, shaking her head. She fiddled with the small pouch hanging from her leather belt. It contained the ring that the High King himself had commissioned for his wife, Elisif, as a gift. Alessandra was still bewildered that she had been called to make it; a mere blacksmith's apprentice from Riften.

Or that’s where she’d been living for the past three years. 

“You aren’t giving yourself enough credit, Alessa,” Amirah chastised, drawing Alessandra from following those thoughts any further. “You’re a brilliant blacksmith - one day, I know you’ll be the best in all of Tamriel. This is only the first step.”

Alessandra shook her head at her friend. She still didn’t know how she had come to be friends with Amirah, who was a gifted bard studying at the Bard’s College. Nor did she know why her friend had been so insistent on retrieving her and escorting her back to Solitude; she could’ve just met her at the gates when Alessandra arrived.

“If you say so,” she told Amirah, if only to humor her. Alessandra gave her friend a sidelong glance, slightly envious.

After hours upon hours of riding horseback and exhausted - at least she was - Amirah still seemed refined and poise; her raven black hair still remained in its Nord style braid, although some stray hairs escaped, framing her cheeks. Her traveling armor glinted in the sunlight, slightly battered from a few wolf encounters and bandits on the road.

Alessandra shook herself out of her thoughts and couldn’t help but fiddle with a lock of hair that had fallen free, feeling slightly self-conscious. She wondered how she looked after little to no sleep on their journey, and wished she could stop to clean herself up at an inn.

But High King Torygg’s request of it being brought by Jarl Elisif’s birthday and no later could not be ignored.

Alessandra trailed behind Amirah as she led them through the city, and couldn’t help but stare. Solitude was a far cry from Riften. Riften was dark and ominous, a result of the city being under the influence of the Thieves Guild and Maven Black-Briar; Solitude, however, seemed much brighter, with flowers and shrubs all around, shops opening for the day. Children raced past them, their laughter like bells.

She smiled after them, almost laughing herself; it had been ages since she’d seen a child with such joy. The children at the orphanage in Riften seemed so sad and helpless, and without hope.

Alessandra craned her neck as she looked at the stone wall that surrounded the city. Nearby shop vendors called out at the small market. She walked briskly to match Amirah’s pace, lest she get lost in such a place.

The Blue Palace was just as she had imagined from the travelers that went through Riften: it towered over them, tapestries and flags hanging with Solitude’s sign for all to see. The stone walls cast shadows on the yard, full of shrubs and flowers.Alessandra had to refrain herself from checking the pouch once more; it had become a habit as a resident in Riften. But the pouch was still there, hanging by her hip.

A guard stood by one of the archways, and nodded to Amirah as she passed. “Thane Eleiyn.”

Amirah dipped her head slightly at the guard. Alessandra fought not to gape at her friend. She was a Thane! Why hadn’t Amirah told her on their way to Solitude, or in one of her letters?

“Did you, by any chance, forget to mention that you’re a Thane?” Alessandra asked, once they had stepped inside. 

“It was a recent development,” Amirah replied, her gray eyes betraying her mischief. “Besides,” she added, “I wanted to tell you in person. I was hoping to do it after you gave the Jarl her gift however; I didn’t want to take away your moment.”

Alessandra smiled inwardly, grateful for such a kind hearted friend and wondered yet again how she could have been gifted such an honor.

She glanced around at the entryway. The front room was occupied by two guards at their posts, some chairs and an end table; vases and stone urns held tufts of snowberries and deathbells. An archway led them to the next room where two hallways turned off, and two staircases that went up - to the throne room, Alessandra recalled, from what Amirah had told her. A servant passed by, humming a merry tune.

Alessandra forced herself to breathe in and out, trying to assure herself. I’ve been Balimund’s apprentice for the better part of three years, and have been working, and perfecting, this piece for a fortnight. She squared her shoulders as they reached the top of the stairs. Balimund is a tough teacher to impress, and even he was amazed. The High King will, at the very least, be satisfied.

Won’t he?

Alessandra approached the court behind Amirah, and knelt, bowing her head.

“Rise,” King Torygg commanded, and Alessandra was slightly struck. His voice was kind yet his authority was unyielding.

She got to her feet, straightening her blue wool dress and leather corset; but refrained from messing with her hair when Amirah shot her a look. Your hair is fine. 

“My King and Jarl, I present to you Alessandra Sadian of Riften,” Amirah announced. So Amirah really was a Thane of Solitude; her voice held the authority, but no arrogance. That, at least, hadn’t changed.

Alessandra raised her gaze to the two Nobles. High King Torygg was handsome, adorned with fine clothes, his eyes appraising her. At his left sat his wife, Elisif the Fair. She was clearly younger than Alessandra had anticipated, but her title was just. She sat regally, quiet, yet she gave the barest of smiles to Alessandra, probably misreading her hesitance as nerves.

“I’m honored to be here, your Majesty,” she addressed them both, taking care to address them as Amirah had told her was best.

King Torygg inclined his head and beckoned her forth. She obeyed, untying the pouch from her belt, relieved that her fingers didn’t fumble and her hands didn’t shake.

He took the package from her graciously, and removed the ring as if it were a precious token. It had been requested - with high pay and compensation for the best ring that could be made, by a courier. The blacksmith, Balimund, had been away on business, but the courier had been insistent that she was the one to make it. Long nights and days she had worked; designing, traveling to the farthest corners of Skyrim for the rarest but valuable of materials, and crafting the ring itself.

Her handiwork showed now: a golden band, imbued with ivory from a mammoth tusk - a trick Madesi had taught her - forming small waves that interlocked and split like dancing swords; and small gems too: rubies, sapphires, and emeralds were placed with painstaking precision. This was the proof of her tireless hours as an apprentice, as Balimund had gushed upon seeing the rings completion.

Alessandra worried her lip as the King observed it with careful fingers, the candle light sparkling off the gems. She heard stifled gasps come across the room, and Alessandra tried not to let her anxiety stew as she waited for Torygg’s review.

He silently turned toward Elisif and placed the ring on her delicate finger, which fit perfectly. That was a relief; it surely wouldn’t do for all that time to be spent and not have the ring fit.

“It’s beautiful,” Elisif gasped, peering at the ring.

King Torygg turned back to Alessandra; his eyes crinkled with a smile. So he was pleased with her work, thank the Divines. “That’s some fine craftsmanship, girl,” he commented, “One of the best pieces I’ve seen all across Tamriel.”

Alessandra flushed with the compliment. Behind her, she was well aware of Amirah’s smug smirk.

She almost thanked him, but then he continued, a thoughtful furrow to his brow, “I’ll give you a good word with Beirund; you would do well here in Solitude as his assistant, or even business partner. Many people, I think, would give much coin for this quality.”

“By Akotash!” Alessandra gaped, but hurriedly closed her mouth and thanked him. “That would be an honor, Sire.”

King Torygg seemed amused now. “And now, your payment -”

“TORYGG!” 

Alessandra nearly jumped as the voice thundered through the room.

She, and everyone else in the court, turned to see soldiers dressed in Blue coming up the stairs, flanking a great barrel chested man that she had only met once, on a delivery in Windhelm. Ulfric Stormcloak, Windhelm’s Jarl. 

But what was he doing here, unannounced?

Alessandra stepped aside and Amirah came beside her, frowning severely. Her eyes were narrowed on Stormcloak and his men, dressed in blue cuirass’. “Something isn’t right,” Amirah muttered, placing her hand on her sword’s hilt.

Alessandra appraised the soldiers: solemn, hands in tightly clenched fists, fingers twitching towards their scabbards. But it was Ulfric Stormcloak who was the most disconcerting: angry eyes blazing and teeth clenched shut. He swaggered to King Torygg like a man on a mission. But what was his mission?

“Stormcloak,” King Torygg acknowledged, some of his jovial demeanor gone. Unease and weariness unsettled the company in the room, as taught as an archers bow. “What brings you to my Hold?”

“I’ve come to challenge you, for the throne,” Stormcloak said. “The people need someone who will fight for them, for the Nord ways, not sit upon the throne like a coward.”

Gasps echoed across the room. Alessandra wished she had her bow on hand, but she’d left it at the forge in Riften; all she had was an Elven dagger, sheathed at her hip. She wrapped her fingers around the hilt, resigned to fight if that is what it came to.

“You mind your tongue,” King Torygg growled. “I am still your King, boy.”

“Are you?” Stormcloak retorted.

Falk Firebeard stepped in front of Elisif, the Steward’s glowering at Ulfric warningly. Everyone watched with bated breath as Torygg stared at Ulfric.

“Very well,” Torygg said finally, getting to his feet and drew his sword. “I accept your challenge.”

Everyone tensed further but no one made a move to defend the King; it was a challenge after all. 

But Ulfric did not draw his sword. “Fus,” he muttered; quiet, like a whisper, but it echoed through the room like thunder. The ground seemed to shake under Alessandra’s boots; but she was reeling as, somehow, that single word had seemed to strike a primal part of her soul. A part she didn’t know existed.

But it was gone as soon as it had happened.

King Torygg was thrown like a ragdoll beside his throne. As he got to his knees Ulfric strode over to him and stabbed him in the gut. The King grunted and met Alessandra’s eyes, words in his gaze that she could not read; and then Torygg, Skyrim’s High King, died.

Elisif the Fair gave a grief-stricken sob; and then pandemonium broke out in the Blue Palace.

This wasn’t the first battle Alessandra had seen, nor the first death; but she was not allowed a single moment to process her shock as the Stormcloaks charged. 

Alessandra lept in after Amirah, fighting at her side as the other Thanes fought to bring Elisif to safety, baring her dagger. Swords clanged together with terrible screeches. It was all she could do to keep from being gutted by one - although one soldier managed to clip her cheek, drawing a line of blood. Without a parry from her dagger, she was well aware that it could’ve been her neck or her eye; a second later the soldier crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

She allowed herself only one moment to regret, to pray that soldier was in a better place now, and then returned to her friend’s side.

Eventually Ulfric cried out amidst the chaos, and the Stormcloaks - or the soldiers that remained of them - fled the Blue Palace, leaving behind a whirlwind of felled Imperial and Stormcloaks alike. 

Falk Firebeard barked to the guards, his sword coated in crimson, “After them! Make sure they’re captured or killed; they will not leave the Hold alive!”

Solitude guards chased after them, cursing Ulfric Stormcloak in many ways that Alessandra had never considered thinking of, promising brutal deaths to the rebels. She promised to never underestimate a guard again in the future, especially after witnessing their battle prowess. They were, after all, guards for a reason.

“...Someone should get General Tullius,” Falk was saying. He was looking at Elisif, clearly troubled, as she knelt by her husbands side, sobbing as she held his limp hand.

The court mage, Sybille, frowned. “I knew the Stormcloaks were restless, but I thought they were just apart of the rabble, not an actual threat.”

“That’s what everyone believed,” Falk sighed. 

He was right about that. Rumors were like wildfire in Skyrim; Alessandra had caught wind of Stormcloaks forces amassing in Windhelm, and many Nords in Riften were on his side. Alessandra had tried to stay out of politics, for she’d already been in a war once, and she had no want to fight in another.

She mentally chided herself. For dredging up those memories, and for thinking of her own ambitions - a simple, quiet life - when Skyrim’s High King had been assassinated. She could hear his wife's cries. And the men and mer who had died defending him, even the ones who had followed Stormcloak till the end. They all had families, who would never see them again. Wives and husbands, who would weep when they’re told the news or wonder in ignorance if they’d ever see their love again. Children, who would never hug their parents again. Maybe even babes, who would never know their fathers or mothers. 

She had to do what she could. “I can get the General,” Alessandra offered, and suddenly had the eyes of those who remained, but for Elisif. “I...have no official duties here, so it’s the least I can do.”

Falk seemed to consider for a moment, and then nodded. “Just go up the road, right near the Temple of the Divines, but please hurry. He must dispatch Legionnaires at once.”

“Understood.” Alessandra turned and jogged down the steps, passing through the entryway once more. Guards were no longer stationed at their posts, a severe reminder of the last hour.

She followed Falk’s instructions and found Captain Aldis, who directed her inside to the War room. 

A gray-haired man stood before a stone table, where a map of Skyrim was laid out. His brows were furrowed and he appeared to be lost in thought, but he frowned when he noticed Alessandra approach.

She wondered how she must look: dress torn and covered in blood, her blond hair rogue from it’s braid, falling in curled tufts around her cheeks, and the cut on her cheek had began to clot. “I’ve come with news from the Blue Palace,” she said quickly. “Ulfric Stormcloak has just assassinated the High King.”

General Tullius, as she presumed, seemed a man that was hard to surprise or scare, from his hard gaze, but he seemed a combination of both as he heard her. He gasped sharply as though he’d been gutted (she found a strange reminder in Torygg’s death and banished the thought quickly).

“I came as soon as I could, to pass along the message to you from Falk,” she continued. “Solitude guards are pursuing Stormcloak as we speak.”

General Tullius eyes skimmed over her, and broke the silence. “Legate!” He barked, and a Nord woman answered his call. Before the Legate could speak, he ordered, “Gather some men, and go after Stormcloak. And tell the Captain to investigate whoever might have helped him escape the city unnoticed.”

When the Legate left with her orders, Tullius looked back at Alessandra. Would he simply dismiss her? “Who are you, girl?”

“Alessandra Sadian,” she replied. 

“And what brings you to Solitude?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Business. King Torygg had commissioned me to make a ring for the Jarl’s birthday, sir.”

“And you traveled all the way across Skyrim to deliver it? Why not have a courier do that?”

Alessandra barely kept herself from clenching her fists. How dare he insinuate that? Betraying the King, and Skyrim, was the last thing she wanted. “My friend, Amirah Eleiyn, lives here. I decided to come here so I could visit her as well. I was delivering the ring at the Palace when…” She trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

“So you were an eye witness,” Tullius amended.

Alessandra nodded.

General Tullius grabbed a quill, inkwell, and a scroll of paper. “Could you describe everything that happened?”

Alessandra did not want to relive it; but it was necessary to dispel his suspicions. She explained what occurred as Tullius scribed the report, and he signed it.

She turned to leave, recognizing a silent dismissal, but the General stopped her. “Is the Jarl alright?”

“In time, we must hope she will be well again.”

She left the General to his map, as she prayed for the future of Skyrim. Her home.


	2. An Apprentice's Last Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alessandra makes preparations for the future, and deals with bandits.

Chapter One: An Apprentice’s Last Task

Amirah was kind enough to let Alessandra sleep in her spare room in Proudspire Manor until she figured out what her next step was.

Alessandra tried to sleep, curled up in her bedroll; but everytime she closed her eyes, she saw everything again in flashes. Torygg smiling after giving Elisif her ring; Ulfric storming in and challenging him, using The Voice, and killing Torygg; and the battle that followed.

She tossed and turned, and somehow managed to fall into a shallow, restless sleep. Something screeched in the distance, as loud as thunder but as striking as lightning. She turned and raised her gaze to the skies, waiting, watching as a blob turned into a shape and then, a dragon.

Alessandra grabbed her hunters bow and took three arrows, nocking one and aiming at the legendary creature. Slowly her surroundings bled into her awareness; the gray clouds behind the dragon, the cobblestone path beneath her boots, and the trees swaying in the wind.

Someone was beside her; an archer too, aiming at the dragon, shouting something. But what were they saying?

She aimed and released her arrows, but the dragon kept evading them. Was it toying with her?

Dovahkiin, the dragon said, almost like a whisper in her ears. Dovahkiin.

Alessandra woke in a cold sweat, a soundless cry in her throat. The dragon's eyes had seemed to bore into her soul. But it was only a dream, she firmly told herself. Dragons were only a legend - nothing more.

She lay still for a few minutes, until her heart slowed back to its even pace, and sat up, stretching her arms and rubbing her back. Moonlight poured in from the window; the two moons hung above the horizon, as golden light started to wash the stars away.

Resigned not to sleep anymore, Alessandra lit a candle. The flame flickered and swayed as she pulled her journal from her knapsack, and padded to the sitting room by the bedrooms. She settled on the bench after setting the candle down, and dipped her quill into the inkwell and began to write.

She’d never been a bard or had interest in becoming one; but Alessandra remembered her mother reading to her when she was a girl, and the late nights they’d spend together, writing page after page of small stories. Her mother had taught her how to read and write, and had encouraged her to keep a journal. Even now, several winters after her mother's death, she still wrote.

The words flowed easily, although it would probably seem less coherent when the journal would be opened again. 

She recorded a brief description of her journey from Riften: Having never been outside of Riften but for scarce occasions, I still admire the lands of Skyrim. The smell of juniper berries and mountain flowers are heavenly. As always, whenever I leave Riften, I wish I could travel more around Skyrim; I’ve been only in Riften for most of my time here, and I know the city (mostly) from front to back now. Amirah and I met bandits and wolves, even some Frostbite Spiders, but it was nothing we couldn’t handle. We reached Solitude after about about three days of constant travel, only stopping at night to rest at inns.

She wrote about Solitude and continued on to describe what happened at the Blue Palace; it was always easier to put something to the back of her mind after she wrote it down.

Solitude guards and Legionnaires had gone after the Stormcloaks, but few had been brought back. Alessandra paused a moment, and remembered returning to the Palace after speaking with the General. Elisif had refused to see the man who had aided the Stormcloaks; Falk Firebeard and the court mage, Sybille, and the other Thane’s had been the ones to decide to place him in the cells until Elisif could give further judgement. Amirah is concerned for Elisif, and I am too.

Alessandra stared at the words scrawled in the black ink, feeling lighter now, almost raw and drained, as she absentmindedly braided her hair. What now?

She could return to Riften, but Balimund had taken on another apprentice before she had left. Becoming his assistant was a possibility but Balimund didn’t get a lot of business in Riften, and there’d be too many hands. Though Madesi had offered her a job as his assistant, to hone her craft in making jewelry…

But to make a living for the rest of her life?

Alessandra would need to look for other means for coin as well. The High King did say she could speak to Beirund, and she did need to speak with him about Balimund’s shipment. but would he hear her out after the King’s assassination?

She had to try. 

Alessandra wrote the date and then returned upstairs. It wasn’t long before dawn so she started to prepare for the day.

-

Alessandra selected a simple tunic and leggings, deciding to forgo the traditional women apparel in Skyrim, and slipped on her worn leather boots. She braided her hair as she went downstairs and found Amirah grabbing a small breakfast. Amirah’s housecarl, Estylle, a blonde haired young woman dressed in steel armor, acknowledged Alessandra and then returned to her book.

“I forgot you’re an early riser when you’re not adventuring,” Amirah laughed when she saw Alessandra sit at the table.

“If you call following the road adventuring,” Alessandra retorted. She grabbed an apple, cheese, and some bread, and leaned back on the table. Her friend was packing some food, clothes, potions, and other supplies into a knapsack. “Going somewhere?”

“Winterhold. Headmaster Viarmo wants me to investigate some rumors there about the Shrine of Azura. Go there, stay at the inn, scout for any new story material - that sort of thing.” Amirah glanced at Alessandra. “Falk told me that Beirund is excited to meet you. He’s at his forge near Castle Dour.”

Alessandra nodded, and ate silently. When she was finished she asked, “How long will you be gone?”

“A few weeks. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like; my housecarl will be here to keep you company too.”

“Are you sure? I mean… I’m not sure what I’m going to do, now that my apprenticeship is over. All my things are still in Riften.”

“I’d be more than happy to talk to Falk, and pay for any expenses.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Alessandra said. Staying at her friends place was one thing. But having her also spend her money on Alessandra?

“If it’ll make you feel better,” Amirah said, adjusting her scabbard and shrugging the knapsack on her shoulder, “You can save up and repay me later. For now, do what you need to do.”

“You won’t take no for an answer, will you?”

“Not likely.” 

Alessandra hugged her friend close and then they parted a moment later. “Be careful in Winterhold,” she said. She’d never been, but there were rumors floating around about the Mages College that had plenty of speculation. Hopefully they were wrong.

“I will.” Amirah bid her farewells and slipped outside.

Alessandra stood awkwardly by the table for a few moments, and decided she might as well talk to Beirund. She went upstairs and grabbed Balimund’s letter from her knapsack, and then came outside.

The cool morning air was a relief and was a balm for her lack of sleep. But a heavy cloud still seemed to hang over the city, despite the clear skies above, as people passed her on the streets. But word seemed to have spread that she had been at the Blue Palace and had played a part in the fight against Ulfric, as passerby’s and Solitude guards commented as she passed.

Some of them had been at the palace too and she smiled and said as much, thanking them for fighting too. It was their job but a thanks was always welcome nonetheless.

As an outsider to Solitude, in less than fine clothes, they’d treated her slightly differently, but that seemed to win most of them over; except a Wood Elf named Feadla, who suggested she should not go to the Blue Palace in those clothes.

“I’m sorry?” Alessandra had stopped. She had not deluded herself into believing that she was the best Imperial woman to walk the streets, especially after the past few days; but was more curious than offended about the Elf’s comment.

“Your outfit,” Fealda repeated, as though Alessandra had cotton balls in her ears, “is absolutely...common.”

Alessandra raised her eyebrows. “I am no lady, I assure you,” she replied. “I’m afraid being a blacksmith's apprentice doesn’t get you much coin. And these are my travel clothes.”

“A blacksmiths…?” Fealda blinked, as if recognizing her. “Ah, you’re that girl from Riften. You were the one that the High King had commissioned for a ring?”

“I suppose that is common knowledge now,” Alessandra mused. “You work at Radiant Raiments, right? My friend Amirah loves to buy things from that shop.”

“Thane Eleiyn is a wonderful customer of ours indeed.” Fealda seemed to consider her, stepping closer and looking her up and down. She suddenly grabbed one of Alessandra’s arms, frowning, and then brightened just as quickly. “Jarl Elisif must have some favor for you...Tell me, do you plan on going to the Blue Palace anytime soon?”

“I suppose…” Alessandra said, uncertain. 

“Come by Radiant Raiments soon then. I have a new piece that I just finished up,” Fealda told her. “If you can go to the Palace dressed in that, then ask the Jarls opinion, you will be doing me a great favor. Of course I must have it fitted for you…” Fealda gushed about it some more but then went to return to her shop.

Alessandra shook her head, bemused. Fealda may be one of a kind, but she was ernest and, according to Amirah, she did satisfy many customers despite her attitude.

She made a mental note to visit Fealda’s shop when she had the chance, but first she needed to speak with Beirund.

-

Beirund was a stout man, a scarred blacksmith’s apron across his front. He was sitting by the grindstone, tempering an iron sword, as Alessandra approached. A duo of guards acknowledged her as she passed.

She waited patiently for an opening to speak. Soon the seconds turned into minutes, but Alessandra occupied herself with watching the market vendors set up their stalls and the children racing past.

“Can I help you?” Beirund asked, startling her. 

“Amirah said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Ah, yes.” He seemed to consider her now, looking her up and down. “Alessandra, is it? I saw the ring you made for Jarl; that was fine craftsmanship.”

“Thank you.”

“So you completed your apprenticeship?”

“Correct.” She considered helping him, but it would be better for her to get permission first. “Right, I almost forgot. Balimund wanted me to give this to you.” Alessandra pulled out Balimund's letter and handed it to him.

Beirund’s brow furrowed as he read it and then set the parchment down. “I’m afraid that shipment hasn’t come yet because something is keeping it in Windhelm,” he said heavily. “With the Stormcloaks I haven’t been able to send anyone to investigate.”

“I could go,” Alessandra offered.

“If there are bandits or Stormcloaks - no, I cannot let you go.”

“I’m a grown woman, Beirund,” she retorted. “I owe Balimund this much at least. I’ll go and make sure that the shipment is brought back on course. Then I’ll… I’ll figure out what I’m going to do when I come back.”

Beirund seemed to realize that she wouldn’t change her mind. “If...if you insist. But as for your next move,” he said, “The reason I want to speak with you is because I want to offer you a position as my assistant.”

Alessandra blinked in surprise. “You want me to be your assistant?”

“If you want it, the job is yours.” Beirund smiled.

“Well, I suppose I don’t have any reason to decline so I accept,” she laughed.

“Then the job is yours, as soon as you return from Windhelm.”

-

Alessandra spent the rest of the day learning Beirund’s system in his forge and his shop, and even did some deliveries to learn her way around Solitude. The Legionnaires were happy to meet her in the courtyard of Castle Dour, and she watched the archers practice while she waited for an auxiliary to fetch her some swords to take back with her.

The archers were well practiced, except for one at the end. He was fairly young and handsome, and built like a rapier. He was nocking arrows but most of them barely hit the outer edges of the target.

The soldier frowned and tried it again.

Alessandra glanced around but the auxiliary soldier hadn’t returned yet, so she strolled over to the Legionnaire and watched him fire another arrow. “Your arm is too stiff,” she said over his shoulder.

He jumped, throwing off his next shot. “Pardon?” The soldier eyed her up and down. Heat rose to her cheeks as she remembered that she was dressed in her belted tunic and a blacksmiths apron. Her hair was trying to spring from her homely bun.

“The arm pulling back the string - your elbow’s locked,” she elaborated. “It completely throws off your aim.”

The soldier frowned at her.

“She’s right, you know,” Captain Aldis said, materializing beside them. “Give it a go, Ethix.”

The Legionnaire - Ethix - stared at Alessandra for a moment in disbelief but obeyed the Captain. He turned and nocked an arrow, shifting his arm slightly.

The arrow sailed through the air and pierced the target near the middle.

Ethix laughed in apparent disbelief. “Thanks for the advice,” he said. “But how did you know…?”

“I’m much more than a simple blacksmith,” she said, smirking to herself. She’d learned how to shoot a bow many long years before she had even set foot on Tamriel - among other things.

“Who are you?”

Captain Aldis grinned slyly as though he saw something that she didn’t. “This is the blacksmith from Riften.”

Ethix looked back at her in surprise. “You’re Alessandra, right? And you were at the palace too, when the King was assassinated?”

Any mischievous part of her fled away at the memory. “I was.” She glanced back as the soldier she was waiting for approached with a bundle of dented and dulled armors and weapons. “Here you go, lass. For Beirund.”

Alessandra hefted the bundle into her arms, and spoke with the soldier some more before he returned to his training at Aldis’ urging. She bid goodbye to the Captain and took her leave, walking back to the forge.

-

That evening she took up Fealda’s offer and stepped into the quiet atmosphere. The warmth was welcome compared to the chilled breeze that had entered Solitude and the ice rain pouring down.

Despite Fealda’s initial attitude toward her when they first met, the place was quite cozy. Past the entry hall was a small room, shelves lining the walls with books, an array of clothes, and other things set about. Behind a wooden bar stood a young woman, who was writing in a ledger. She noticed Alessandra after a few moments.

“Finally, a customer,” she drawled, eyeing Alessandra up and down with clear distaste. “Is there anything you’re looking for?”

Alright. She made Fealda seem incredibly open minded and...not snotty.

“I was looking for Fealda…?” She prompted, trying to appear nonplussed at the woman’s assessment. Alessandra grinned and secretly enjoyed the look the woman gave to her as she sneered at Alessandra’s appearance.

“She’s in the back,” the woman said, returning to the ledger. “Now go; I’m getting bored of this conversation.”

Alessandra shook her head inwardly. Her and Fealda were certainly two of a kind. 

She went through the doors into the Elve’s house, and found Fealda upstairs in a storage room. She noticed Alessandra instantly. “Ah, you’ve decided to grace me with your presence once more,” Fealda said. “Please come, come. I have a piece around here somewhere that would make your eyes pop.”

Alessandra followed her into a bedroom, where Fealda started digging through a wooden wardrobe. She sat on the bed and looked around the room as she waited.

The room was small with only a single bed. A bookshelf was shoved against the wall with books and potions. An end table had some herbs, a book, and some fruit and bread set on a silver platter.

“Here, try this on.” Fealda handed her some clothes and a pair of leather boots, then left the room, closing the door behind her.

Alessandra stripped her clothes off and slipped the robes on. The dress was burgundy, a brown corset around her waist, and a fur wrap around her shoulders. She slipped on the boots, adjusting the clothes around her. They were a little large and baggy in some places but Alessandra didn’t mind the colors.

She found Fealda waiting outside the door, and the Elf was more than happy to make the adjustments. Alessandra left a few minutes later, her other clothes in a knapsack, and strolled to the Blue Palace, to see the Jarl’s opinion and to get preparations in order to leave for Windhelm.

-  
The guards were more than happy to let her in, and she bid them good day before she went inside.

The Palace hadn’t changed much since the night of the King’s assassination; servants still milled around, doing their chores, and Alessandra passed Erikur, another Thane on Elisif’s court. She acknowledged him, but Erikur scoffed at her and went on his way.

Alessandra shrugged to herself. Maybe he didn’t recognize her or he didn’t care. She continued upstairs to the court.

One change was obvious. Only a single throne remained, upon which Elisif sat, staring sadly off in the distance. Nothing remained of Torygg, but it had become well known that he was still being prepared at the Temple for his funeral.

After one of her subjects finished with a grievance, she stepped forward and offered her condolences for King Torygg.

Elisif eyed her, recognition flashing through her eyes. “You were the blacksmith who crafted my ring,” she said softly. The ring, to Alessandra’s shock, still remained on her finger. “You also helped fight against those rebels, and went to the General. Thank you, on behalf of my people and Solitude.”

“I was only doing what was right,” Alessandra replied. “I’m honored to have been of service.”

Elisif glanced at Falk. “Give the girl her reward and payment for my ring.”

Before Falk could move, Alessandra cut in, “Jarl, that isn’t necessary; I expect no reward or payment. I’m here to give my condolences, and as a favor for Radiant Raiment.” Alessandra fiddled with the end of her braid, feeling foolish. “I’m...supposed to ask you if you like my outfit,” she admitted.

Elisif gave a weary smile. “I very much do. I’ve been meaning to get some new dresses - I’ll go and see about it.”

Alessandra smiled. “I happy to hear it.”

“Have you talked to Beirund?”

Alessandra remembered that she was leaving, and nodded. “I’ll be leaving to complete one last favor for Balimund.” She paused. Hopefully Elisif wouldn’t react to strongly. “A bandit clan has held up a shipment for Beirund in Windhelm.”

Elisif inhaled sharply, and her nostrils flared. “Be cautious in that Hold. Stormcloaks still run free; I’m sure it’ll be dangerous, even with the bandits too.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Then please accept payment and reward for your journey.”  
-

All in all it didn’t take too long to get her things in order.

Alessandra packed her things in a knapsack: clothes, food, potions, and miscellaneous things that would be helpful to trade or barter with. Everything else she left in the spare room with a letter for Amirah that she later found a courier to send to Winterhold. Falk had been insistent on having her things retrieved from Riften, and Estylle had no issue with waiting for her luggage.

She shared a goodbye with her friend’s housecarl, who had become a new friend during their time together, and went to Bits n’ Pieces to buy a bow and some arrows. Then she bought a horse from the stables, and departed from Solitude.  
-  
The journey to Windhelm was long and filled with rocky hills, the road taking her through Dragon Bridge and Morthal. 

Alessandra was forced to stop at an inn that night as it started to snow heavily. She shivered, leaving her horse - Dash - tied to a sheltered tree, and staggered toward the inn. Above the night sky was cloudy, snowy stars falling to the ground. The sun had set over the horizon hours earlier, and any heat had gone with it.

The inn was far warmer than outside. Alessandra shivered as the warmth seeped into her, and rented a small room. She spent some time in the main hall, listening to the bard filter through the flute, drums, and lute - then Alessandra returned to her room, collapsing into bed.

-  
The following evening Alessandra crested the hill, and saw Windhelm down the road. Snow blanketed the hillside, speckling the roads. Red snowberries and shrubs dotted the roadside. She harvested some to give to Estylle for the potions she prepares for Amirah.

She crossed the stone bridge, coming closer to Windhelm, which was more of a fortress than a city. The stables were run down and the end of the bridge was crumbling down.

Alessandra shivered, her breath misting in front of her. Night had fallen once more - completing another long day of travelling. 

But although she was worn and tired, Alessandra had no want to rent a room at the inn in Windhelm. She didn’t want to see any Stormcloaks if she could help it.

Alessandra frowned and let Dash trot past the farms and down toward the harbor, where she asked around for the ship called Svnari. No one had seen it. Most suspected shipwreck or taking another route; but one said something about bandits.

“Do you know where they are?” Alessandra asked, sitting forward on the crate she was using as a chair. 

The fisherman frowned at her. “It’d be insane for a traveler like you to face them alone, but to each his - er - her own.” He pointed her to a cave upstream that was likely their hideout.

Alessandra trudged along the bank on Dash’s back, and left him behind a cluster of boulders. She crouched behind one, and peered at the cave entrance.

Two bandits sat around a small fire, bedrolls set out beside them. One had a war axe between their shoulders. The other a bow beside him. Each were laughing with a bottle of ale.

Alessandra smirked to herself. Both were easy to pick off. She stayed in a crouch as she came toward the camp, keeping an arrow nocked, ready to fire. But no other bandit was outside. After pillaging the bandits, barrels, and chests, Alessandra snuck inside the cave.

In the end, it wasn’t hard to get the chest. Alessandra picked off the others one by one. Each one, she knew, would try to kill her if given the chance. So she didn’t give them one.

Still, she avoided looking at the bodies for too long as Alessandra grabbed the potions and gold, and headed out of the cave.

She walked right into a Stormcloak and Imperial fight.

Alessandra quickly nocked an arrow and aimed at a Stormcloak archer. She felled them easily, but then she heard the voice of Ulfric Stormcloak.

Startled, Alessandra jerked and her arrow flew off into an Imperial instead. She nocked another arrow and aimed - then she was tackled against the snow.

Something hard hit the back of her head, sparks dancing in her eyes, and then everything went black.

-

A cold breeze washed over the back of her aching neck, tugging Alessandra back from unconsciousness. Rough material rubbed against her wrists, stinging and raw; her seat seemed to rock back and forth to the rhythm of hoofbeats. 

But she should be riding Dash. Hadn’t she been dealing with those bandits…?

The Stormcloaks. Ulfric. Then the Imperial soldiers, and she was knocked unconscious.

Her vision swam into focus. She was sitting in a horse drawn carriage that rocked against the terrain; her wrists were bound in rope and her clothes had been replaced with a roughspun tunic and burlap shoes. Alessandra tried not to imagine that someone had changed her while she was unconscious.

Three others were in the carriage as well. Ulfric Stormcloak sat at her right, and opposite them both of them was Ralof and another that she did not recognize.

Behind their carriage was another with more rebels. 

“Hey, you’re finally awake.” Ralof’s voice brought her to attention. “You were caught in the ambush too, weren’t you?”

Alessandra eyed the blond haired Nord, dressed in Stormcloak blue. “What’s it to you?”

Ralof frowned. “Just making conversation.”

“So you aren’t a rebel either?” The stranger beside Ralof asked. He leaned forward toward her, eyes wild. “You and I, we don’t belong here! But this blasted Civil War with the Stormcloaks got us caught up in it!”

“Shut it, horse thief. Have some dignity,” Ralof retorted.

The horse thief cast a withering glare at Ralof. “I would have been halfway to Hammerfell if it weren't for you damn rebels!” He growled, and cast a dark look at Ulfric. “Why is this guy gagged anyways?”

“Mind your tongue, thief. He is Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim!”

“Shut it!” An Imperial soldier barked from ahead.

“Wait...Ulfric… As in…?” The thief gasped, appearing somewhere between awe and terror. “The leader of the rebellion! But if you’ve been captured…”

Oh no. Alessandra froze, staring at her hands, all feeling seemingly melting away from her limbs. If Stormcloak was captured, then he would need to answer for his crime; but if the Empire wanted to be sure that Ulfric could not escape their grasp, then their only option would be to…

It would be…

She was so utterly screwed.

Alessandra swallowed, peering down the road. Imperial Soldiers up ahead rounded a bend on their horses, and she knew they would be soon to follow. She idly listened to Ralof and the thief make conversation, if only to distract herself.

“Where are you from?” Ralof asked.

“Why do you care?”

“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home,” Ralof said quietly.

Alessandra glanced up ahead again, and saw they were approaching a village. The cobbled road rolled through a wooden gateway, where guards stood, shields painted with a symbol that looked faintly familiar.

The Whiterun sigil! Of course. But what town was this far east?

There was Riverwood, but she had been there once, making a delivery for Balimund to Lucian. This didn’t even look remotely familiar.

“Rorikstead,” the thief said, drawing her back to the carriage. “I’m from Rorikstead.”

There was no time for Ralof to ask her about her home as they entered Helgen, passing through the gates. Glancing off, she idly noticed a High Elf, someone who looked like a Thalmor, and - General Tulius!

Hope shot through her like an arrow. Surely he would remember her from nearly a fortnight prior?

Right?

“Helgen,” she heard Ralof muse. “There was a girl from Helgen that I used to fancy. Pretty, smart. She became a Bard, I believe.”

Alessandra glanced at him. She recognized that look in his eyes; nostalgic and wistful, a man remember an old love. “What was her name?”

“Amirah,” he said. “Amirah Eleiyn.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “Amirah was from Helgen?”

Ralof blinked. “You know her?”

“She’s my best friend!”

“Shut up back there!” The soldier ordered again, as they started to round the watchtower in the center of the city.

“Is she...is she well?” Ralof asked.

“She’s a Bard, in Solitude. Ah, she’s a Thane too…” Well, this may make things awkward. “Last I saw her she was departing to the Mage’s College in Winterhold.”

“I...I wonder if I’ll ever see her again,” Ralof murmured. He glanced at the walls of the city, and laughed humorlessly. “To think as a boy I used to feel so safe inside Imperial walls…”

Alessandra wouldn’t know. When she was a girl, she’d only heard stories from her mother about the Empire, having lived across an ocean from Tamriel itself. 

For a moment she recalled the small continent of Trasein; from it’s thick forests to its sandy beaches. She remembered the small mountain village that she’d grown up in. If she died here, her old friends would never know what happened to her.

And, as they didn’t know the truth of what happened, they wouldn’t care.

“Why...Why are we stopping?” The horse thief asked, and Alessandra glanced up. While she’d been lost in her thoughts the carriage had pulled to a stop.

“Why do you think? End of the line.” Ralof got to his feet after Stormcloak did. “Let’s not keep the gods waiting.”

Alessandra hauled herself to her feet, shuffling along behind the thief. Helgens residents had all but disappeared into their homes, children ushered inside by their parents. The other prisoners were lining up and called forward by Imperial soldiers, to line up once more by the executioner.

She prayed to any Divine that would listen as she jumped down onto the hard ground, and the other prisoners blocked her view of the town.

“We aren’t rebels!” The thief insisted.

“Die with some courage, boy,” Ralof told him, and then Alessandra saw him glance forward out of the corner of her eye. “The Empire and their damned lists,” he muttered.

She couldn’t help but snort.

The Imperial with the list called out, “Ulfric Stormcloak.”

Ulfric strolled casually toward the execution block, allowing Alessandra to see the man with the list better.

He was handsome, eyes drawn to the list in his hands, dressed in well fit armor. Yet he looked faintly familiar…

“Ralof of Riverwood,” he said, a solemn, undecipherable emotion edging his tone. Next, “Lokir of Rorikstead.”

The horse thief - Lokir - made a break for it, sprinting away from the group with his hands still bound.

The soldier beside the list holder - a Captain or Legate, no doubt - stoically watched Lokir run for his life, and ordered, “Archer’s!”

A moment later, Lokir of Rorikstead was dead. An arrow stuck out of his back.

Alessandra sighed sadly as the second soldier turned back to the prisoners. “Anyone else feel like running? No? Good. Continue, Hadvar.”

Hadvar, who Alessandra assumed was the one with the list, frowned and cast his gaze back at her. “You, step forward. Who are you?”

Her real name almost tumbled free, as it always did when she was about to introduce herself.

But that was a lifetime ago, so she introduced herself as the name she’d accepted when Alessandra first came to Riften.

“Why were you trying to cross the border?” He asked.

Alessandra sighed, and explained that she was meant to investigate a delayed shipment that was coming in from Windhelm, as a favor for Beirund.

Hadvar turned with clear uncertainty toward his superior. “What should we do? She’s not on the list.”

“Forget the list. She goes on the block,” His superior replied.

“I’m sorry, Alessandra. We’ll try to get your remains to the right place. Follow the Captain.”

My remains won’t be setting foot on my home soil, She mused bitterly, as the Captain led her to the rebels gathered by the block.

General Tullius was talking to Ulfric, about the Voice - a Nordic way of magic - and how he’d used it to usurp the High King’s throne.

For a brief moment she entertained the notion of Tullius recognizing her; she would be pardoned and freed, and be able to continue on her way. But her hopes were crushed as she remembered how she appeared now: dressed in ragged clothes, a messy haircut, her blonde curls and face caked with mud and grime. He wouldn’t recognize her.

A loud screech came, long and bone-chilling. Alessandra shivered; it sounded strangely familiar.

A Stormcloak was called up by the Captain, and he waited as a Priestess, garbed in yellow and orange robes, raised her arms and started the rites - until the rebel interrupted and the Captain shoved him over the block. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?” He said.

The executioner raised his axe. Alessandra forced her gaze away as a new head fell into the basket.

“Next prisoner,” The Captain ordered.

The screech came again, louder, closer.

“I said next prisoner!” The Captain turned her attention to Alessandra. “The blacksmith from Riften!”

Well, she didn’t see anyone else who fit that description. Alessandra went forward, her feet seeming to drag. She glanced from the block, bloodied and the decapitated corpse that remained, to the executioner; a black masked man in black robes.

“To the block, Alessandra,” Hadvar said sympathetically. “Nice and easy.”

Alessandra got to her knees and then laid her cheek against the stone, warm, sticky blood against her muddied skin. She almost closed her eyes, to give herself one last moment of peace. But it would be better to die with her last sight of the world being the sky.

The axe was raised.

So this was how it ended for her. Nineteen years old. A blacksmith just out of her apprenticeship. A best friend she’ll never say goodbye to. A home she’ll never see again. So many, many things left unsaid.

But then she saw it, coming around the mountain, a faint shape like a bird. But it came closer and grew larger, wings flapping, that same screech filling her ears.

Soldiers shouted around her as it came to land on the watchtower, and the Captain shouted something, but Alessandra did not hear it.

Again, the memory flashed before her eyes: a flying creature of myth coming into focus, screeching, and then whispering a single word to her.

Dovahkiin, it’s eyes seemed to glitter at her.

And then it raised it’s head to the sky and shouted in an ancient tongue; a storm cloud of swirling colors came above.

Dragon.

**Author's Note:**

> So, my first fanfiction on Archive and my first Skyrim work. Not so bad right?


End file.
